


Soon You'll Be Free

by IMeMyandMine



Category: SHINee, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7560943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMeMyandMine/pseuds/IMeMyandMine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a bleak post-war age, genetic reproduction is cheaper and more reliable than the manufacture of the dolls.</p>
<p>In certain segments of society, young men are now made and kept as slaves and pets, issued with a limited lifespan, chained in so many ways. But Taemin is different from the others of his ’batch,’ and when Minho comes into his life, he finds his true self harder to keep secret.</p>
<p>There’s just one problem. Minho is the boyfriend of his owner Sunny, and acts of sexual expression are forbidden for his kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I am transferring all of my stories from AFF onto AO3 because I’ve come to notice that I hardly ever go on AFF anymore and when I do post on there I don’t get as much of a response as I do on AO3. I am reposting all of my stories regardless of how bad they are and will only be posting new stories to AO3 and no longer on AFF.

The room is lit with twelve candles - no more, no less. In one corner, some soft and sensual lullaby rises from the stereo. The curtains brush softly over his skin from the open window he begins to undress smiling down at the sleeping city below, mocking it, wanting it, flirting with it. First his black tight shirt, next his purple skinny jeans, and finally his underwear.  
  
Here for the next 6 hours at least, he can truly be alone. But he can never be free. He moves over to the mirror, the candle light casting a dull amber aura over his milky white skin. He watched his own lips part as, in delicate movement s caused by everlasting fear of getting caught, he begins to run his hand over his neck, down his chest, deliberately tugging on the mandatory nipple clamps to induce a moan of pain and something else as well..  
  
Pleasure, perhaps?  
  
He removes one hand momentarily to wet his fingers with spit then trails them back over his nipples, over the well defined rib cage, down the flesh of his stomach to the first beginnings of pubic hair…  
Then he stops, and falls against the mirror, wracked with sobs of pain.  
  
Every night he stops there. Every night this bittersweet conclusion only leads to tears more desperate and bitter than those of the night before.  
  
I know what comes next, as surely as if it were finely scripted and rehearsed and replayed a million times over before my eyes. His hand slips down to upturn one of the crystals on the dressing table, from which he unearths a slip of paper, yellowed with age, worn with being read and reread, the words upon it memorized like some kind of prayer.  
  
A newspaper article. His one reason to still hope, that one day he could fly free, like the bird of paradise he is trapped within his cage.  
  
He moves away to sit on the bed, head bent over. I can make out his lips moving as he reads in silence, tracing over the words with his fingertips, more lovingly than he touches himself. He is ashamed. Ashamed of that which, has he been born into a different life, a different class, would have given him, and so many others, so much pleasure.  
  
Others like me.  
  
But I am trapped, too. We are all victims of the masks we wear, the role we play, our lives nothing more than a poorly scripted part in a play written by those with power, the overseers, the decision makers. Every cog fits, everyone has their place, desired or not, everything runs smoothly like a well-oiled machine.  
  
But every machine breaks down. All it takes is for one person to throw the old proverbial spinner in the works and…  
  
I sigh, removing the night vision goggles with no little reluctance as he finally crawls into bed. I lean over and cut off the audio feed from the wall, having no desire to hear him cry himself to sleep, the nightly ritual that at once leaves me both broken-hearted and elated.  
  
As long as the tears still fall, we have a chance.  
  
I move into the bathroom, carrying my desire like a soul-destroying shadow. I switch off the light, watch myself unbutton my pants in the full-length mirror. Perhaps it is even the mirror that pleases me the most about this hotel room. I strip off the pants and the underwear quickly, to familiar with my own needs to waste time with gentle caresses the way he does. Grabbing hold of my dick with one hand, I cup my balls with the other, i begin to rub up and down the length of the shaft: violent, measured strokes. I am my own lover, my own creation, no need for foreplay, no need for words of love, no need fot the pretension that washes over me like a sea of doom every day.  
  
This city only removes its mask by night if you know where to look. Rape, prostitution, teachery, torture, and tears. All these signs of hope, signs that the entire system is breaking down.   
  
And then what will they do? I let my hand stray from under my balls, around the curve of my thigh and over my cheek, digging two fingers - now three- deep inside - twisting, trysting, panting, sobbing - as finally my dick is begins to throb beneath my palm. Subconscious wishes swallow conscious thoughts for too brief a time. Then a long stretch of cum spurts out onto the mirror. The world comes back into focus, revealing this ultimate stain on the face of innocence. His face? Even as I imagine it, my reflection changes to that of a desperate young man with a feral smile. But really, is anything ever changed? I lean down slowly and lick off all the evidence, before washing my hands and getting dressed.  
  
Quick, functional, painless. Like everything else in this god-forsaken hellhole.  
  
I stop only briefly on my way out of the room to grab the keys and the night-vision goggles. There will be no more action here tonight. Time to greet the world, and see what secrets this whore has to show me.  
  
Om some days, this is the one thing that seems to keep my heart beating in my chest, the blood flowing through my veins.  
  
“Dear, beautiful Taemin,” I murmur, as I lock the door behind me. “soon you’ll be free.”  
  
And I will be your savior, your Christ. The one to release you.


	2. Chapter 2

Nine girls lined one wall of the cafe, each dressed identically in school uniforms. Most of them seemed happy, carefree, as they sat cuddling their pets, or allowing them to do their hair, or put make-up on them. The electronic and consumptive age well and truly dead, now these serene, beautiful boys took the place of Tallahatchie's' and Barbie dolls, each of them just as soulless and empty on their own way.  
  
Only one girl  sat quietly at the table, her head resting on one hand, her eyes unable to leave the doorway for more than thirty seconds at a time. periodically she sighed, a deep, heartfelt sigh, laced with both impatience and love sickness. Her pet sat at her feet, obediently silent. She'd long since given up encouraging him to play with the others, even though most of the other girls teased her because they all thought  Taemin was weird.  
  
"Why don't you take him back-get another one?" they'd asked.  
  
Others had agreed readily, shaking their pretty, long locks.   
  
"Obviously a defective specimen. You have a right to report it."  
  
"Its your duty. If I'd gotten one of those, I'd be blind with rage!"  
That had been Jessica, who had a penchant for being overly dramatic.  
  
Each time they said something, Sunny just smiled and nodded along with them. But she never did anything about it. Trouble was, she liked her pet just fine the way he was: she didn't want a replacement. Perhaps she was becoming too attached?  
  
Speaking of becoming too attached, where the hell is Minho? She demanded silently to herself. It was well after four o'clock now, which meant he was well and truly officially late.  
  
"What's got your goat?" came a voice in her ear, and she turned to see Sooyoung and Seohyun staring at her.  
  
"Oh, nothing," she moaned, then sighed again. "But Minho's supposed to be here. It's our three month anniversary today."  
  
Seohyun nodded her head approvingly.  
"You're so lucky. Minho's a babe!"  
At her side, Sooyoung tittered.  
  
"Has anyone seen him?" Sunny asked now, only to see her eight companions each stopped and shook their heads in unison." And I bet you wouldn't tell me if you had," she added in a resentful silence. She new each and everyone of them was jealous of her relationship with the younger student. She'd caught them all at various stages, trying to flirt with him, trying to assure him that they could offer him much more than she could.  
  
But it didn't overly worry her. Life was to short to be jealous. And she didn't think just sex in and of itself particularly interested Minho. In all the time they'd spent together, they'd never done anything more risqué than French kiss.  
  
A small tap on her leg from Taemin reminded her of where her attention was supposed to be focused, but it was too late. As she turned to look, she suddenly found herself being swept off her feet, into the arms of the tall lean young man who gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before brandishing a bunch of white roses in front of her eyes.  
  
White, the symbol of purity, chastity, virginity.  
  
"Sorry I'm late babe," he apologized casually, leaning on the table. "I had to hunt all over the city to find those." His hand indicated to the three roses now held by Sunny. "One for each month we've been together."  
  
"Thank you!" Sunny gasped, ashamed at her initial reaction. From behind her, each of the eight girls sudden;y piped up in unison, "Hi Minho!" followed by much giggling and blushing.  
  
Minho shot Sunny a look, smiling at the seeing her so uncharacteristically mad. "We should go. We'll be late for the film."  
  
Sunny's anger and embarrassment dissolved into a smile, and she rose to her feet, allowing her beau to take hold of her arm and escort her from the the cafe. Behind them, Taemin got up like a cat and quietly padded outside behind them, his expression eternally unreadable.   
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
Inside the old cinema complex, Sunny quickly retired to the restroom while Minho purchased the tickets and Taemin went off on his mistress' orders to buy popcorn,lemonade and chocolate. Both met up again in the center of the foyer, as there was still no sign of Sunny.  
  
Minho helped himself to a big chunk of popcorn before taking the extra drinks off the boy, who seemed to give them up reluctantly despite all he was carrying. There was a moment of silence, broken only by Minho whistling some cheery cheesy pop tune, before he said, "I haven't taken you here before, have I?"  
  
No response, not even a flicker of recognition that he was being spoken to crossed Taemin's features. As to be expected.  
  
"I've wanted to bring Sunny here for a long time. I can't think why I haven't, before now. I like this place, it's one of the few originals still standing from before the war. The only people who come here are tourists and freaks, like myself." He stopped to chuckle, then frowned. Not even a smile out of the boy.  
  
"You're not very talkative, are you? Don't you like me very much, Taemin?"  
  
He saw the boy's eyes finally light up as his name was mentioned, and, in a very soft pain-filled voice, he said, "You know it's against the rules."  
  
"Hey, sorry!" Sunny called out, as she came running towards them both. "Only one toilet worked, so there was a queue."  
  
Minho smiled and pretended to remove his attention from Taemin, his grin broadening as he noticed the boy's visible sigh of relief. He offered his arm to Sunny. "Shall we go in?"  
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
After the film was over, they went back to the cafe for a cup of coffee, before Minho walked Taemin and Sunny home. Stopping off to give Sunny the briefest of goodnight kisses, he then turned back to Taemin. "Will I take care of this one for you?" he asked sweetly.  
  
Taemin's face retained its blankness as Sunny beamed broadly. "Gee, thanks, Minho. I was going to call him a cab, but with you around..." She lowered her head. "I don't like the thought of my pet being alone in the city this late. I've heard some of the terrible stories, about what might happen."  
  
  
  
Minho nodded his head seriously, brushing his fingers gently under her chin, lifting her head to look at him. "But we don't know that any of that's true. The government wouldn't allow such things to go on, surely?"  
  
"True or not, it scares me. I don't like being scared."  
  
He smiled sweetly. "I'll take good care of him. I promise. Goodnight."  
  
" Here's to another three months!" Sunny winked, before disappearing into her house.  
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
Minho and Taemin walked silently through the streets to the older, more decrepit part of town. Amazingly enough, some of the original still stood, randomly untouched by the war. Those that had been replaced were all shabbily built high-rises, constructed on the cheap in those fearful few years after the global devastation had taken place. Minho always felt on eerie presence lingering like a shadow as he walked among the streets, as though the ghosts of their dead were crying out in pain. Or mocking him, he hadn't yet decided.  
  
It turned out that Taemin's building was one of the originals, which gave Minho a good excuse to delay him before he simply entered its sanctuary without the briefest thanks or even a farewell.  
  
"This is where you live? Wow, original twentieth century. Amazing."  
  
The boy lingered a moment, his eyes focused on the ground, his hand patiently outstretched towards the doorknob, too polite to simply leave while someone, particularly his mistress' boyfriend, was engaged in something resembling conversation with him. He couldn't talk, but he had to listen. Those were the rules.  
  
For as long as Minho could keep talking. "That film tonight was something else, don't you think? That was all before they even had computers to make all the special effects with. It's like, after computers, everybody just gave up. No one makes films anymore. Well, I think that's ridiculous. I'm going to make a film. Yep, just decided now. You're pretty cute, want to be my lead man?"  
  
He broke off, seeing Taemin's painful attempt to hide his blushing. Something else that wasn't allowed, he supposed. He should stop; he was probably only making the poor boy feel more and more guilty, but a larger part of him didn't want to, he couldn't help it. He had never felt any desire before let alone lust. The relationship with Sunny was an acceptable social practice, like having a job or playing sports. But something about this boy made him realize the loneliness of his own mind, not to mention the intense throbbing in his dick, caged painfully beneath the underwear that it was no fast outgrowing.  
  
Lucky for me there's no light in this part of town, he thought cheerfully, and smiled "Well, I should probably go. Give it at thought, will you, at least? One thing you should know about me is, once I have an idea stuck in my head, I tend to take it pretty seriously. I don't give up easily."  
  
He placed one hand on Taemin's shoulders, intending to let the boy know the true meaning of his words.  
  
He fell back surprised as a fist lashed out at his face and heard a sob that was not his own. By the time he'd gotten to his feet, the boy had vanished into the depths of the building, and Minho had no means of getting inside. He didn't usually carry all his devices and illegal gear for dates with Sunny.  
  
"Cheap twentieth century crap," he swore silently up at the building as he began backing away from it, across to the other side of the street. Humanity really lost the plot, architecturally speaking, after the nineteenths century.  
  
He surveyed every window, wondering which one was Taemin's. Internally, he despised Sunny for keeping this boy on a leash, though he knew he should have been glad for him that it was at least her and not one of those mindless bitches she chose to call her friends. Sunny's a nice girl, he told himself grimly. Too nice. She'll never see through any of the lies. She doesn't even know the concept of freedom, let alone want to be free.  
  
Suddenly, a flickering of lights from one of the apartments caught his eye, and he skidded back onto the shadows as a window opened on one of the upper floors. Doing a quick count, Minho made it out to be floor number seven.   
  
The curtain swept across the window, and then Taemin stood there, looking up into the cloudy night sky. Wind swept his cherry-colored hair back from his eyes as he raised his arms to the window-frame and leaned out. His eyes were closed, and he was naked, two little bones piercing his chest on wither side, in the spot where Minho knew his nipples would be.  
  
On the street below, Minho found himself falling to his knees at the sight. He could hear his heart pumping very fast, and caught his hand moving down between his legs before he even knew what he was doing.  
  
Fool! he cursed inwardly, yanking his hand away and watched the boy fall back from the window and disappear into the sanctity of his room. Not here.  
  
Turning around, he looked in the building at his back. One of the newer ones, it probably wouldn't make it to the end of the next century if the weather stayed still, let alone if another war should break out. A hotel, Minho noticed thoughtfully, taking in the gaudy sign above hos head in badly-rendered Katakana. Probably owned by American or Australian tourists who forgot to leave. Those two countries had been hit the worst during the war, with over half the population decimated in the first few days of the outbreak having been announced. The enemy must have been using smart bombs, Minho had thought to himself once, after indulging in a few conversations with some of those who had survived and made the journey across to his home land. Killed off all the intelligent people, leaving only the cretins and the terminally stupid.  
  
But for now, it would suit his purposes well. He wandered inside and asked at the lobby for one of the bellboys to show him a room on the sixth to eighth floors. Once he's found one with perfect view of Taemin's room, he paid for it in full for the next six months before leaving to make his way home, and begin laying plans.  
  
He had a film to make, after all...  
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
For the next six months, Minho and Sunny continued to see each other, their relationship as chaste as ever, by Minho's will alone. He could tell this was frustrating the poor girl to the point of tears, but, each night as he took up his spot in the hotel apartment, he forgot that he even cared.  
  
After the first week, he had crept into Taemin's apartment during the day using his trusty lock-pick, and carefully and discreetly set up audio bugs all around the apartment. These had cost him almost all of his current allowance, so the video camera was definitely going to have to wait. it didn't matter, of course. he was patient. Besides, he didn't give up easily, that was what he had told the boy,and now he intended to make those words the truth.  
  
Before leaving, he'd spent a few moments checking out Taemin;s few possessions. Collars, nipple-clamps and other rings, which appeared to be for penile piercings, were all that littered the bathroom cabinets, along with a few items of make-up and some shampoo and conditioner.  
  
In the main room, he lay on the bed for a little while, his head buried face-down in the pillow, sucking in the smell of the boys hair and skin which permeated the bedding like the scents of rosewater and musk. Then he went to the single closet, caressing and sniffing each of the T-shirts and skinny jeans he found there. The boy had a penchant for black, it seemed. So pretty.   
  
The night stand housed only a single book: well-thumbed twentieth-century manga. Minho flicked through it briefly, smiling at the beautifully drwn images of boys doing things to each other that would have been physically impossible, not to mention illegal, in the real world. So, he has desires, he thought, pleassed. Ot at the very least, he understands that they exist.  
  
He was almost on his way out when he realized he'd left the lock-pick on the dressing table. cursing his carelessness, he went back to retrieve it, and that was when he'd found the article, poking out from behind the hugest rose quartz crystal he's ever laid eyes on. He snatche it up, then glanced over it, frowning as he did so. He's read this article before, in fact. It had come out only a few months agter the whole pet concept had been introduced, and had taken the country by storm. A sad story, if one didn't know the truth. About a boy, a pet, who'd broken the devin rulle of chstity, adn had met with the instant death. Apparantly, the article report, as they injected the poison into his veins that would drive him to the edge of insanity, pain and sickness before his heart finally ggave out, he could be hear screaming the words, "Death is the only true freedom there is" over and over again. There was no burial, and no funeral, his body simply dumped into one of the quarries reserved for all pets once they'd lreached the age of eighteen, and their lives were promptly terminated by the internal signal trackers that kept an eye in their every move.  
  
Minho fled the building as a dark shadow crossed his mind. For the first time, he began to wonder just how old Taemin actually was.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunny took Taemin straight home from school with her one day, instead of their usual daily routine which involved going to the coffee shop with those bimbos and their equally empty-headed pets.   
  
Still, Taemin couldn't help feeling worried by the unexpected change in routine. His mistress seemed unusually flustered too, and quiet; she refused to talk to him at all on the way back to her house.  
  
He found himself pondering the cause for her behavior simply to give his mind something to do, now that he wasn't constrained by her endless string if words. Did she have a fight with one of her so-called friends? Did she get in trouble? Did she ... break up with him? For some reason, he always found himself referring to Minho mentally, not by the young man's name, but a simple pronoun, always reverentially capitalized. He believed that people used to refer to God in a similar way, when there had still been religion, although he had no idea as to the source of knowledge so he never discussed it with himself.  
  
The thought that perhaps his mistress and her boyfriend broke up, though, stirred complex, mixed emotions beneath the surface. Emotions he had been trying desperately to ignore for the past six or seven months, ever since that night when He had walked him home.  
But every night he looked in the mirror, every time he came just that little bit closer to touching ... It was always Minho's face that he was. Looking at him, in his mind's eye, with that always bored so deeply into his soul, seeming to say,"I know all your secrets, little one. They are mine."  
Trouble was, if Minho did know his secrets, could He use them to destroy him?  
  
He'd remembered being incredibly scared when Sunny has first announced that she was dating Minho. A lot of guys were jealous of their girlfriend's pets and forced them to terminate them before their required life spans were up, or, depending on how cruel they were, did the job themselves without the aid of the internal signal tracker embedded in every pet that came out of the laboratories. Even when Sunny had tried to put his mind at ease, telling him how this man already knew how attached she was to him and would never hurt him, he'd continued to be afraid.  
  
But now, the concept of Minho terrified him for a completely different reason.  
  
They entered Sunny's house ---- the fact that she even lived in a house, not an apartment building, showed off their family's status in this newly born society much more clearly than any possessions held by the previous generations, before the war, could have done. Sunny gripped his hand as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, then locked the door and fell down into the bed, sobbing helplessly while Taemin watched on with no visible emotions.  
  
Finally, he forced himself to sit beside her and stroke the long hair that fell down her back in two braids. Half of him resented her, knowing that he would never have her beauty, or be worshiped for it the way she was. Most of those girls were simple-minded, jealous of her; they wanted to destroy her almost as much as they wanted to destroy him. But but Sunny was always good to him. Her heart was as pure as her flesh.  
  
Sunny was the only person in the world of whom he wasn't afraid. It was his duty, as well as his job, to comfort her now, whatever had gone wrong.  
"Ssh," he whispered tenderly, moving down to her back and giving her a small hug, then lifting her up into his arms. There was nothing sexual in the hug. Sunny was like his mother, had become his mother, there wasn't allowed to be anything sexual in his life, so there simply wasn't. He'd just closed off those emotions altogether.  
  
Except for when the night came. Except for when he saw Him...  
  
"What's wrong, Princess?" he asked quickly, to stifle his own train of thought. No one really knew how much the internal signal trackers actually picked up; even though he was still alive despite "bending" the rules with his own stolen caresses, he certainly wasn't going to push it.  
  
Eventually, Sunny's sobs began to subside and she looked up into his face, her eyes still full of tears. Taemin pulled out his handkerchief and began patiently wiping the smeared mascara away from her cheeks. Finally, she smiled. "I have to tell you something," she whispered, lowering her eyes. There was a lengthy pause, then, " I want to have sex with Minho."  
It was all Taemin could do to keep himself from leaping away from her, off the bed, hiding the outrage that suddenly loomed up inside his heart.  
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
Sunny began to show him all the magazines she had purchased in preparation for the act. She must have gone to great trouble and difficulty as pornography was now deemed illegal, a jail-able offence, and Taemin found himself hoping she hadn't actually purchased them herself, at least not without and elaborate disguise.  
  
She flicked through all the pages, showing him the stark photos of couples in various positions, making comments like, "How do you think that would feel ?" or, "I don't think I could do that!" or, "That looks like it might be good." Finally she looked up at him, her innocent eyes completely unaware of the inner turmoil she was causing, and said, "Well. what do you think?"  
  
Swallowing a little too loudly, Taemin forced himself to whisper, "I don't know." This seemed to make her unhappy. "But you're a boy. You have feelings too, right? Can't you give me any advice?"  
  
"It--- it's not allowed." His impenetrable defense, the only wall he had left to hide behind. Four walls, actually, that kept him caged and bitterly alone, ever fearful for his life.  
  
"Oh, come on!" she insisted, grabbing hold of his arm and shaking him like and impatient child. "You've spoken to Minho! Does he talk about me? Does he.. does he want me?"  
  
He looked away, disappointed, wondering when she'd gotten in such a rush to grow up. Probably peer pressure had worn her down at last --- all her friends bragged about their sexual encounters, and laughed at her when she had none of her own stories to contribute. Or perhaps the pressure was coming from somewhere else ... someone else?  
  
"I --- I think he likes you," he stated uncertainly, hesitantly.  
  
Sunny bounced off the bed, almost knocking him out with her braids as they wildly followed suit, seeming to have a mind of their own. " I know he like me, dammit!" she practically screamed. "We've been dating for a whole nine months! What I'm asking is whether he wants me!"  
  
Taemin's eyes fell to the floor. "I don't know," he said again, helplessly.  
  
Sunny stamped her feet on the ground, her eyes becoming little pin-pricks, reflecting only anger and resentment. "Fine! If you won't help me, I'm punishing you!"  
The boy looked up at her, his own eyes widening with fear. Punishing him? Sunny was going to punish him?  
  
His eyes darted back to the floor as he realized they were filling with tears. Another forbidden emotion, and he couldn't allow he to see it. In the state she was in, she might even obliged to terminate him for it.  
  
"Yes, that's right," she continued, walking over to her dressing table and keying in a number in the little safe beside it on the wall. A moment later it sprang open, and Taemin covered his mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping as she pulled out something that resembled a twentieth century television remote. "I'm punishing you all right. You've been very bad. Next time, when i ask you for help, you'll give it to me, got it? I own you, or have you forgotten that?"  
  
He simply continued to sit and stare at her, paralyzed by fear, as her fingers moved around the control pad. "Which button is it again?" she murmured thoughtfully, terrifying him momentarily as she hovered over he big green termination switch. Then she smiled. "This one! Maybe in five days you'll have come to your sensed." She pressed a combination of buttons. Taemin felt something twitching inside him, almost as though a rat was crawling around inside his belly, but nothing else.  
  
"Leave," she said then. "You ave half an hour to get home before you're in la la land for the next one-hundred-and-twenty hours."  
So, she'd put him to sleep. Inside, he could fee himself beginning to relax. there were far worse fates than unconsciousness. As long as she didn't find a suitable replacement the moment he was gone.  
  
He stumbled out of the front door, already stifling a yawn, and looked at the timer on his watch.Twenty-eight minutes remaining. His home was more than half an hour walk from here, but her could make it. He was determined to make it.  
  
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  
  
Every muscle in his body ached, and his blood thumped like a drum through his ears as he dashed down the final street before coming upon that which lead him home. I'm going to make it, he continued to assure himself, though the last time he;d checked his watch it was down to five minutes and that seemed an eternity ago.  
  
Maybe she didn't really do anything. Maybe this fear is her punishment. Sunny's good to me. Sunny doesn't hurt me, he told himself, tripping over some rubbish lying in the middle of the street and falling to his knees, grazing his hands on the way down and skidding to a stop a few footsteps away, gasping for air in pain.  
  
Sweat trickled down his brow, stinging his eyes. He shook his head and rubbed at his face, then glanced down at his watch.  
Thirty seconds.  
"Shit!" he gasped, no longer caring that swearing wasn't allowed either, and tried to get back on his feet. I CAN MAKE IT. i CAN STILL...  
  
But he was getting more and more tired by the second. He could barely keep his eyes open now, let alone get up again. He was so close, but he was going to lose it here, and God only knew what would happen to his unconscious form in this neighborhood.  
  
Did it really matter? He wondered dimly, allowing his eyes to close then jerk up his head again. This was all so pointless. Sunny was always good to me. Until i couldn't tell her about having sex with Minho..  
  
So tired...  
  
He tried to keep his eyes open a moment longer, as it seemed that someone appeared to be coming down the street for him. That was quick, he thought, and then his body slumped forward on the dirt, his mind following soon  after.


	4. Chapter 4

I can barely believe my eyes, or my luck, as I carry his body up the stairs to his apartment, laying him down upon the bed.  
  
He's so light, even in unconsciousness ----- I know that pets are genetically engineered to be so thin, and also not to feel the need to eat.  
  
"We'll change that soon, little one," I whisper, pressing the record button on the remote I carry in my pocket, which starts the video rolling that I just installed this afternoon.  
  
It will all be over soon. Therefore, I don't want to miss a single frame more than I already have done, each of those nights I watched from across the street--- admiring, pining from afar.  
  
This will be my first and only masterpiece. While this government still lays claim to my society, alternately sucking its blood and its dick, there will never be another film quite like mine.  
  
It's almost too perfect that she chose to do this to him now. I don't care why. I have to work quickly, for I have not idea of when he will wake up, and I don't want my little one to feel any pain.  
  
I just want him to be free.  
  
I open my coat and take out the small kit I'd purchased from the black-market dealer along with the camera and related equipment. From the kit, I remove a scalpel, and stand there for a few seconds, holding it up to the light, holding it up to his neck.  
  
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥  
  
There is only one thing left to do. I make my way into the bathroom of my hotel room across the street, washing the last of the blood off my hands before returning to the main area to pick up the telephone.  
  
Three rings before it picks up on the other end, and that voice--- her voice ---the one that strangely stirs so little passion in me by comparison, even after nine months, speaks into my ear. "Greetings! Sun-kyu Lee?"  
  
She always answers the phone in the same way. So silly, so girlish. But she won't be that way for much longer, I know. I've seen the way she'sstarted to look at me. The same way that her friends do. She's beginning to assimilate, to become one of them.  
  
It's time.  
  
"It's me," I say quietly, brushing away some strands of blue hair that have fallen in my eyes."Oh, Minho, my sweet! I was just going to call you!"  
  
Perhaps she'll be the one to do it, then. Her voice does sound quite odd---is she nervous?  
  
"Can you come over tonight? I have something really important to show you!"  
  
She's not breaking up with me. Still, I've had my luck for the day, luck that far outweighs anything she could have give me.  
"What is it?" I ask only a few minutes to get back to my equipment, the audio and the video setup I've rigged in this room. I can't afford to miss a single moment of it.   
  
"Well I ---- I can't tell you now," she whines. "It's a surprise."  
  
"I don't like surprises," I say coldly, checking my watch, turning to keep an eye on the monitor behind me. "Just tell me."  
  
There's a long pause, before she says very quietly, "Well... Minho... I thought ---- I thought that perhaps tonight, we could, er... I thought tonight might be the one we, er... You know!" she trials off finally.  
  
You think you want to fuck me and you can't even bring yourself to say it. I'd like to see you try. A cruel grin follows the thought.  
  
"Well you know, Sunny," I say now, twisting the phone line around my fingers like a little rope, "I don't really know how to say this, but..." Yes you do. You've been rehearsing it for the past six months. The only thing that kept you from ever actually telling her was him, and now... "I don't think things are really working out too well. I think we should break up." I pull the phone away from my ear as a huge wail travels down the receiver. It continues for about thirty seconds before I simply say, "I have to be going now," and hang up on he.  
  
Cruel, yes, perhaps. But sometimes, you have to be cruel... to be kind.  
  
  
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥  
  
  
I take my place expectantly in front of the monitor, hastily switching on all the audio equipment as the figure on the bed on-screen begins to twitch and stir. After a few moments, he sits up, wincing slightly, and gets off the mattress.  
  
He is completely naked. my idea---well, I am the director, after all. it was all I could do as I undressed him not to allow myself to take myself in my hands, cum all over that beautiful creamy skin, then suck him off myself, sleep or no sleep. But I didn't want him like that. I want him to be free. He doesn't need to want me. That isn't the point. Though from somewhere deep within, I find myself wishing that it was.  
  
I lean in closer to the monitor as he stands there, looking about in a daze, trying to equate his surroundings with his last known memories. I worry about whether I could have damaged him, even though the operation seemed a frighteningly easy one. Internal signal trackers, my arse. Such an important sounding name for a tiny box that simply injects a variety of drugs into the body at the owner's request, and contains a small radar device that looks positivley primitive compared to those they were using up until the war ended. Still... he does look a little too frightened.  
  
"I don;t understand," I hear him say at last, holding his hands out in front of his face. He can see that the clock on the wall still records the day as being the one that Sunny put him to sleep. "It's still Tuesday. It should be Sunday."  
  
"I don't understand," he murmurs again, then turns to catch sight of himself in the mirror, and gasps to see himself, naked and beautiful. So Sunny wanted to put him out for five days? It appears I underestimated our little friend. Meanwhile, I'm only just aware of my hand moving down beneath the band of my pants, taking hold of my dick as he stares at the mirror, at himself, and, to the untrained eye, right at me---I'd set the camera up inside the mirror, using a number of clever tricks to keep it concealed.  
  
He looks over at the bed now and crawls back onto it, then promptly bursts out into a fit of tears, not the way he usually cries, but much, much worse. This isn't the reaction I wanted. What have I done? Horrified, I take my hand off my own limp penis and hesitantly reach over to switch on the internal microphone.  
  
He's sobbing about nothing being worthwhile any more, that Sunny doesn't love him any more, and fears of termination. I can't bear for him to be afraid a moment longer than he has to be.  
  
"Things are differnt now, little one," I whisper into the microphone, my eyes glued to the screen as I watch him jusmp up, huddling into a fetal position as protection from his nakedness, eyes darting wildly about the room. I can sense that he wants to get dressed again, but he can't---- I burnt all his clothes, although I did keep one of the dresses--- that he was wearing the night we first met-- and a pair of stockings and suspenders.  
  
They might come in handy, even if he ever decided to stay...  
  
Stop that!Torn between two directives, my hands shake with rage. I drew in a deep breathe away from the microphone to compose myself.  
  
"Who's there?" asks Taemin now, pulling the sheets up over his body with a shiver.  
  
"Someone who wants to unlock the door to your cage," I respond without hesitation. Though, in truth, I've already done that. You just have to want to fly out.  
  
"Who are you!" He's screaming now, tears filling his eyes. Why do I feel such... pain, when I see him this way?  
  
"Go to the window," I say slowly, "and look outside."  
  
I wait till he's crawled off the bed before getting to my feet and moving to my own window, lifting up the sill and leaning out casually, smiling at him as our eyes meet from across the street. He turns a little paler.  
  
"You can hear me?"  
  
"That's right. Feel like letting me in this time?"  
  
He's never done so before, not willingly. Every night I walked him home, though the response wasn't as unfriendly as the first occasion, he always refused to even let me in at the door. Instead he'd keep me out on the street while I waffled on, and probably would have let me do so until sunrise, if I'd had the patience and hadn't cared how important the night was to him.  
  
"Why am I awake?" he demands now.  
  
I sigh. "Do you really want me to tell you from all the way over here? Seems a bit impersonal, don't you think?"  
  
It's his turn to sigh, as he lowers his head. "Do I have a choice?"  
  
"For the first time now, yes," I murmur, as I switch off the microphone and the other recording gear, and make my way out of the apartment once more.  
  
  
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥  
  
  
He answers the door, wrapped only in a sheet, and backs away from me fearfully as I advance towards him, into the room.  
  
Taking a quick look around as though I've never been inside the place before, I sit on the edge of the bed in front of the mirror, gazing at my reflection momentarily as I remove my jacket and shoes, then loosen my black and blue hair from its bindings, allowing it to fall around my face. I've spent enough time in front of mirrors to wear down any natural feelings of resentment or shyness. By now the novelty has well and truly worn off, so I return my gaze to Taemin again, before ripping the sheet from his body and pull him down onto my lap, forcing him to face the mirror.  
  
He tries to pull away, but I hold fast, so he simply sits there and whimpers as I run my fingers over his chest, tugging gently at the nipple-clamps. I have the advantage, after months of careful observation, of knowing what turns him on.  
  
Sure enough, despite his fear, I can see him growing hard in the mirror. Grabbing one of his hands, I force it down onto his dick, force him to touch himself, his balls, his thighs, his beautiful, soft, silken skin laid bare under both out hands.  
  
"Please don't," he whispers, though his breathing has grown ragged in his throat. "Please... they'll kill me. DO you truly want me to die?"  
  
No little one. But, all things die eventually, don't you realize?  
  
"How old are you,Taemin?" I whisper into his ear, moving our hands back up to his shaft, tickling his foreskin with my thumb as I force him to stroke himself, growing hard myself with mixed expressions of pleasure, guilt and fear dwelling in his eyes.  
  
"Seventeen years, four months, eleven days," he chokes out, trying to pull away again but only succeeding in allowing me to adjust my position slightly so he rests against my own hard-on.   
  
"Seventeen years, four months, eleven days," I echo in a whisper. "Why, that would mean you only have eight months to live, little one." Somewhere beyond my overwhelming desire, I'm shocked at the knowledge. He looks so much younger.But then,I guess that's the whole selling point. "If you know you're going to die anyway, why not go out by your own hand?" I smile at the double entendre as I increase the intensity of our stroking.  
  
"This story," he whispers now."I always thought I could, but I'm so afraid... such a horrible death." Ah, your beloved newspaper article. The one thing that gives you hope, yet the only thing that really keeps you down. Now I truly understand their reasoning.  
  
"A fabrication," I tell him with a smile. He jerks away from my touch, only I'm holding too tight.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"There was never any Ferdinand, or whatever his name was---"  
  
"Fenrir!" he snaps, correcting me with a frown, then lets his gaze drop down to the floor. "You're saying it's a lie? How can you know that?"  
  
Instead of answering him, I simply say "Tell me, have you ever seen another pet die?"  
  
His eyes snap up again, to glare at my reflection."Of course not! It's a secret ceremony, everyone knows that!"  
  
"Okay, so the moment of death, it's sacred, then. But next, what happens?"  
  
"Then we get put out to sea. we dissolve in the waves. We become part of the ocean, the one constant life force that washes over the earth."  
  
Such a beautiful, romantic notion.Blurted out without hesitation, like some religious doctrine. My heart almost breaks, hearing him speak this way. For a moment, I can't bring myself to say anything.  
  
Then, "No, little one, that's not the way it happens at all. When you turn eighteen, your body will be injected with a drug so powerful that makes what they did to your fictional Fenrir look positively merciful by comparison." I can't bear to look at him now as I conclude, "And then they take your bodies, and they bury them in an old dumping ground and set then alight, like garbage. Every pet is born on a particular day, depending on the production cycle. That makes it more economical. They can dispose of them periodically in a six month cleansing-----"  
  
"Stop it!" he screams now, freeing his hands to cover his ears. I hold him tight as he burst into another fit of sobbing---terrible, heart-wrenching sobbing.  
  
Since when did I ever learn or allow myself to such emotions?  
  
After ten minutes or so have passed and the tears have subsided, I whisper in his ear, "Do you see, now, that there really is no point? No point in being afraid? I've watched you every night for the past six months, my beautiful Taemin, denying yourself that which would truly make you free, and---" And?  
  
"It breaks my heart to see you do so," I finish at last.  
  
I know I am being cruel for not revealing the entire truth. But he can't know yet. He has to want this, above and beyond everything else. He has to want his freedom, no matter what the price.  
  
I let go of him now, and for a moment longer remains on my knee before getting to his feet in front of the mirror. I gaze up at him, unable to conceal my own longing. Somehow he seems to feed off this, for I see his dick stirring again, slowly returning to the magnificence that I admire.  
  
Strange that they would allow them to be so well endowed, knowing they'd never be able to...  
  
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" he asks me at last.   
  
His question almost surprises me into telling the truth, but I must force myself to play the role that I've come here to play. "Do you think you're beautiful?" I ask, getting to my own feet and standing close behind him.  
  
We both gaze at his reflection in the mirror, as his dick reaches its full length. "I don't know,: he confesses quietly, as I put his hand there once more, stroking him, then, the final moment, when I let my own hand fall away...  
  
He continues to stand there, touching himself, caressing his nipples with his free hand, watching himself in the mirror, running his hands over the length of his shaft. I move away from the bed, out of range of the camera, covering my mouth with my hands as I watch, hearing him begin to moan slightly as his rhythm intensifies. I am the one who wishes for death, I realize, as a wave of something so powerful sweeps over me it almost knocks me off my feet.  
  
He turns to me now, his dark brown eyes closed, but a smile on his face as he spreads his legs and carefully works one finger inside himself, hissing in a mixture of pleasure and pain. I can see moisture dripping off the little silver ring on his dick, running over the chain that travels around to the other side and buries itself in a mound of black pubic hair. He falls back a little as he begins to sob, this time with ecstasy, no terror or despair. I drop gently to my knees on the floor, looking up at him, worshiping him, not even able to touch him.  
  
If you love something, set it free...  
  
No! My mind protests again, as very slowly he withdraws his hand and opens his eyes, focusing on me. "Do you want me?" he whispers slowly, taking my breath away.  
  
Yes, very much so. However, I have to remember my role. The show must go on, for a little while longer.  
  
"Not yet." I force myself to choke out the words, starting to feel very light-headed, all the blood in my head having drained and moved elsewhere.   
  
"This is yours now. But, if you still want me, I'l be---"  
  
No, stop it. What was I even trying to say? I you still want me I'll be yours too? But that wouldn't be fair. He needs this self discovery, This self-love, just like I did, he needs to be--  
\--so alone?  
  
He returns his attention to the mirror, his hand working very fast now, tugging relentlessly upon his cock, rubbing the chain against the skin, pulling and tickling at his foreskin with the little ring. His breathing quickens first, then mine: sharp breaths that hurt the throat and set a fire in the chest. Then he starts to moan, eyes rolling back in his head as the moment of his release finds him, takes over every other sensation. At least his head falls back, and here and there little white droplets gleam on the crystals, the mirror, and the floor. For a moment, he simply stands there, panting before he turns to look at me. In his eyes, the longing still burns, no longer blemished by fear. I get back on my feet, damp enough beneath my own underwear, and watch as he slowly sticks each finger of one hand in his mouth, licking off his own cum, letting it slide over his tongue and trail down his chin and throat before swallowing.  
  
"So... how was it?" I ask at last, my smile broadening into a grin.  
  
He smiles and lowers his head, turning away from the mirror and stretching out upon the bed like a cat. "Worth dying for, I think," he murmurs, and rolls over onto his stomach, his head on his hands. After a moment, he glances back at me over his shoulder, a cheeky glint in his eyes. "But I'm not sure I've decided yet. If you still want me..." He lets the words trail off, and his eyes drift down to my crotch.  
  
At last it's my turn to feel genuine fear, as I strip off the remains of my clothing and move in top of him, licking my fingers before poking one gently inside. He tenses slightly beneath me,so for a moment I don't move, not wanting to hurt him before he lets out a little hiss of air. "Please..." I continue moving inside him, building up a rhythm, until I can tell his gasps are of pleasure, then I allow one more finger to gain entry, repeating the pattern until he seems ready for three. I wonder if I'll even be able to get inside... with-out cumming all over that beautiful ass. I curse myself for not planning ahead completely and thinking to purchase some lubricant as well, but I'd never expected to be here, like this...  
  
"This will hurt you," I whisper in his ear, warning him. "But once I'm inside you, I'm not going to want to stop." I'm not inside you yet, and I don't want to stop."There'll be lots of blood. It's what carves the word humanity upon our souls."  
  
"It's okay," he whispers in response, and I raise him up off the bed slightly, forcing him up onto all fours, before parting the flesh around his hole and forcing myself inside with a need I couldn't have known I possessed.  
  
He screams loudly as we practically crash against the wall, his nails running down the wallpaper, digging into the pillow cases. For a moment he tries to escape but i shift under him slightly, allowing myself to penetrate him even further, not ever wanting to lose tis but knowing I am too close.  
  
I run my hands around under his stomach, feeling for his penis once again, though having some difficulty doing so with such darkness of desire blooming like a black fever from the depths of my mind. his hand is there as well; our fingers meet---again he's already hard, and I wonder about the modern miracles of genetic engineering before we both scream out, and I imagine the mirror shattering in a thousand tiny pieces, revealing me, revealing my soul, as a wave of warmth and release crashes down upon me.   
  
  
  
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥  
  
  
  
I lay there on top of him, above him, for a very long time, feeling our hearts racing and slowing in tandem, not ever wanting to move.  
  
Finally, he says softly, "So... how long does it take?"  
  
I rise off him slowly, both of us gasp a little as I slide out of his hole. Blood and cum stain the remainders of the bedding, and those powdery soft thighs. not understanding the question, I roll him over to face me, staring deep into his dark brown eyes, brushing the cherry-red hair away from the cold sweat of his brow. It's always the broken dolls who are most perfect, to me.  
  
"How much time do I have left?" he asks now, seeing the frown of incomprehension on my face. Ah, yes. I haven't told him yet, about my other gift. He still thinks he's going to die and go to hell for committing such a terrible sin.  
  
With a deep breath, I rise up to my knees, then pat him on the leg. "Come on," I instruct, getting off the bed with some difficulty.  
  
Now it's his turn to frown, as he follows me into the bathroom.  
  
Opening the bathroom cabinet, I produce a small plastic bag within which, still coated with blood, lurk the internal signal tracker, now as impotent as my own dick.  
  
"Do you have any idea what this is?" I ask, handing it over.  
  
He takes it somewhat reluctantly, stares at it momentarily, then shakes his head.  
  
I sigh, running my hands through my hair. "The scar was gone by the time you woke up," I start to explain, as I lead him back to the other room and it sit beside him on the edge of the bed. Once more we face each other in the mirror, gazing into one another's eyes, our reflections.  
  
"I took it from you," I continue. "It's... it's something I had dome to me once, which is how I knew... what to do." Why am I confessing to this , why now?  
  
Seeing his eyes, I can tell he still doesn't understand, doesn't dare to understand. "It's your signal tracker," I conclude finally. "You're-----" I clear my throat, not sure why I should feel this sudden need for tears.  
  
"You're free, Taemin."  
  
Finally the light dawns in his eyes, as he realizes that what I'm telling him is indeed the truth. I smile weakly and get back on my feet, striding over to the other side of the room to retrieve my clothing, and start to get dressed. Time to roll the credits, I suppose, feeling in my jacket pocket for the camera's remote.   
  
"I should really be going now."  
  
"Wait!" he calls out, as my hand reaches the door knob. i freeze but don' turn around.  
  
"I don't understand," he says, approaching me and taking hold of my arm, forcing me to face him again. "You had it done to you? You were one of use? How... how is that possible?"  
  
I laugh, glancing up at the ceiling. "I was a previous model. One of the prototypes. When people still felt the need to protest such things--- I was lucky. I was supposed to have been destroyed, like all the others." I try to look away, try to ignore this pain in my chest, but he pulls me back over to the bed with a strength i couldn't have know possessed and now forced me to look at myself in the mirror.  
  
"Why did you do this for me?" he demands. He thinks I want something from him. I can't really blame him. Your freedom, in exchange for your soul? "Because," I can barely whisper,"I wanted to set you free."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
He frowns at my logic and pushes away from me, falling back on the bed, his eyes not leaving my face as he says, "And now you're just going to leave?"  
  
I shrug, trying to remain detached, at least on the outside. "That's what freedom is. To no longer need to fulfill any roles, to no longer have any expectations placed upon you. To no longer desire to fool yourself that people feel love, stay loyal, feel truly happy with the one they're with." I force myself to keep my gaze level as I speak the words, like a mannequin-man reading from a script. "To no longer be someone's possession, but choose your own path."  
  
He shakes his head, unconvinced. But I've not come to the end of my lines just yet. "That's why I watched over you. It's why I watched over them all. But yo're the only one... the only one I thought deserved to be be saved."  
  
"So my God is deserting me," he murmurs, as I once again attempt to make it out the door.  
  
This is too much for me to simply ignore. "What did you say?"   
  
"You created me, you gave me freedom, and now you're running away!" he elaborates in a spiteful tone of voice. "You think I don't understand love? I don't understand happiness? They exist, Minho."  
  
I almost stop breathing; it's the first time he's ever spoken my name.  
  
"I understand how it feels not to have them, but I want them, but to want them. you don't understand at all. You don't understand what it is to need..." He closes his eyes, getting to his feet, naked and fragile, dirty and bruised and oh-so-beautiful as the sunset catches a chink in the window pane, casts a halo over his skin, akin to the candle light. So Let it end, just as it began. And yet, this time, something different...  
  
"I don't want your freedom," he renounces at last. "Put it back in. Let me die, the way fate ordained. Better that than this."  
  
"Taemin." But he's gone from me now, drawn back towards the window, leaning out of it just like the first time I saw him, undressed in all his glory.  
  
"I'm asking you to stay," he says finally. "That is the path that I choose. But I won't force you. Leave, if that's what you desire."  
  
He's dismissed me now, I can tell from the way his shoulders sag and he lowers his head, looking down upon the street. This certainly isn't the ending I had planned for my masterpiece theatre. It's hard for a pet, I tell myself---- the first couple of months, especially. No longer being kept, no longer being "legal", but a feeling of great excitement too, as though the world, or what remains of it at least, is your oyster. No time bomb looming over your head. No fear of desire, no fear of remorse. If you can get past the first few months, which are filled with loneliness and terror.  
  
The rest of your life, I correct myself now. And I, I've never truly gotten over it. All I've really managed to achieve in all this time is the simulation into a society I despise.  
  
"Tell me now," I say eventually, "do you really think you're beautiful.... Taemin-ah?"  
  
I see his shoulders start to shake, and wait for him to fly at me in a fit of rage, or punch me the way he did the first night. But instead, he calmly confronts , a fire burning in his eyes as he spits out the word."Yes."  
  
I smile, folding my hands in my lap. "It took me five years after they freed me before I could answer that question in such a way."   
  
Together, we walk towards each other, in the center of the room. Finally we stand so close together we're touching, and I bow my head, resting against his, toying with the nipple-clamps once again. "I think you're beautiful too, little one." I close my eyes, reaching into my pocket once more.  
  
"Very well. If that is your wish, if this is your first wish, then, I shall stay."  
  
Now all I can feel is relief as he flashes a smile, reflected in the mirror, the eye of the camera, and we slowly embrace, falling backwards upon the bed.  
  
Cut. I switch off the record button on the camera's remote.

 


End file.
